


evening swallow

by dorypop



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish & Blue Sargent Friendship, Adam is roommates with Orla and Blue, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, Pynch is endgame, and they have a psychic business!, psychic adam parrish, tarot reading, there’s also Gansey pining for Blue in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26968570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorypop/pseuds/dorypop
Summary: When Gansey talked Ronan into going to a psychic reading, this was not what Ronan was expecting.
Relationships: Adam Parrish & Orla Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 16
Kudos: 142





	1. Chapter 1

Ronan Lynch was searching for a very specific place.

He needed it to be large enough, and humid enough, and accessible enough, and secluded enough. He needed it to be special, because he was planning on spending a lot of time there.

Ideally, it would’ve been the Barns.

The problem was that the Barns were his home, and where most of his dad’s dreams were still stored, and where most of _his_ dreams were going to be stored. It held memories and grief and he wanted to keep it private. He also wanted to keep it _safe_ , for when Matthew came to visit.

So. Not the Barns.

Somewhere else, then.

Just a piece of land on sale—he’d buy it, and plant his seeds, and grow his crops, and employ a few people to keep it running when he missed the Barns and decided to go back for a bit. Harvest everything, then sell it. There, profit. See, Declan? You don’t need a high school diploma to run a business.

Gansey had been _delighted_ when he’d told him about his plans. That had almost made Ronan reconsider the whole thing, but Gansey had been surprisingly supportive. He’d even offered to come with him to speak to the realtors, which had actually helped because those people were complete assholes who didn’t know the _first_ thing about soil.

“Don’t despair,” Gansey had told him, as Ronan watched how his instant noodles turned around in Gansey’s microwave, feeling quite desperate. “We haven’t tried every single place in the area—we’ll find it, you’ll see.”

But Ronan had the nagging feeling that Gansey only wanted to keep looking forever, because that way Ronan would not stay cooped up in the Barns for days on end. Ronan also knew that Gansey secretly loved that he was staying with him, as if they were back in high school.

Ronan actually suspected Gansey was going through a middle life crisis or something, even though they were both still twenty-one. Gansey had always been _old_ , anyway. Or maybe it was Ronan who’d aged him prematurely.

They ate their noodles, and Gansey put on an obscure documentary that Ronan paid absolutely no mind to. Until Gansey clapped his hands and told Ronan they were going out.

“Fuck off,” Ronan answered, because Gansey’s idea of going out could mean very different things and he was not mentally ready to spend his evening at the archaeological exhibition of some natural history museum.

“No, you _have_ to come with me. Wearing something over your underwear, if possible.”

“I don’t have to do shit.” Chainsaw agreed with a screech, even though she was still upset with him because they’d left her behind for their latest real estate hunt. Mostly because it had involved a helicopter, but Chainsaw was petty like that.

“But, Ronan. Listen. Have I told you about Jane?”

“Only a fuck-billion times. The prettiest girl in that coffee shop. The cleverest soul in the city. I get it, Dick. She’s probably a great fuck. I just don’t want to be there for that,” he said, taking advantage of Chainsaw’s returned good mood to pet her head.

“ _Ronan_. She’s not—It’s not like that!”

Gansey’s blush was worth every text he’d sent Ronan telling him about her, after Ronan had hung up on him the moment she was mentioned.

“Really.” He raised an eyebrow. “So why do I know about whatever fuckery is going on with her hair _so extensively_?”

“Listen. She’ll be going to this café tonight. She reads poetry there, usually, so—”

Ronan had to stop him there. “No fucking way.”

“But it’s a really nice place and—”

Gansey looked constipated enough for both of them, thank you.

“I’m not going to some alternative joint with Edison bulbs to listen to your girlfriend read about her inner turmoil. No fucking _way_ ,” he repeated, for emphasis, because apparently having a crush made Gansey hard of hearing.

“But she might be able to help us with our search!”

Ronan laughed. “How? Does she work in real estate when she’s not busy being a hipster?”

“What? She’s not a _hipster_!” Why did Gansey look so scandalized, anyway? “She actually doesn’t like labels, as she pointed out very, um, _emphatically_ , the night we met. That’s another story, anyway. What I was going to say is that she comes from a family of psychics, and—”

“What. The fuck.”

“Will you listen for a minute? Look, we were talking last week, and she shares a flat with her cousin and another psychic and they even have a business! I’ve looked them up—they’re on the Internet and everything.”

Ronan would have torn his hair apart at this point, were his head not freshly shaven.

“Dick,” he said, summoning patience from where there was none. “First rule of the twenty-first Century—do _not_ believe everything you see on the Internet.”

Gansey squalled. “Yes. I _know_ that. But I also know Jane! I’ve spoken to her.”

“While she was insulting you! Do you even have her number?”

“Well, no, but that could happen any minute now. I’ll have you know, she _smiles_ at me when she sees me at her readings now!”

“That’s probably because you’re the only loser who comes to listen to that shit!”

“ _Ronan_.” Chainsaw fussed when she heard his name.

“What? Gansey, you don’t seriously expect me to go to a _psychic’s place_ to ask about the land I want to buy, just because you have the hots for a girl? Why do you even want to keep seeing her, if she’s a witch? She could kidnap you and sacrifice you to the devil, and you’d be all the happier because she _smiled_ at you while she drew pentagrams with your blood!”

“Oh, Ronan, _please_.” Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. But _still_.

“I’m not going.”

“She could maybe help you, you know? What’s the harm in asking? Worst case scenario, she doesn’t help us find a place. So what? We’d be right where we are now. But she _could_ help, and perhaps it’d be the push we need in the right direction, and what if by this time tomorrow you’ve already found _the_ place?” That sounded nice. Pity that Ronan didn’t believe in miracles anymore. He snorted. “Besides, we’d get to hang out with her. We’d be killing two birds with one stone!”

Here was where Ronan drew the line. “Will you mind your fucking language?” He stood up, startling Chainsaw. “There’s a _bird_ present, you fucker!”

Said bird flew in a big circle around the room, before she perched on Gansey’s chandelier. That made one of them who liked the hideous thing.

“Oh. Right. Sorry, Chainsaw.”

Gansey sat on the couch. He had this annoying spark in his eyes that Ronan hadn’t seen in him since before he’d started college. Perhaps he should give this Jane girl a chance, after all. Or just make sure himself that she wasn’t about to bring Gansey into a cult or something.

Gansey _was_ helping Ronan with his searching. What was one evening, anyway? His alternative plan was cleaning Chainsaw’s cage—he could do that in the morning.

“I’ll go find some pants,” he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally inspired by [this tumblr post](https://parrishbrat.tumblr.com/post/623086301025107968/you-know-those-psychic-readings-on-etsy-where-they), although in the end it became a very different thing. Next chapter is already written, so I’ll probably post it tomorrow.
> 
> Title from a haiku by Kobayashi Issa: Evening swallow, / my heart is dreadful / for tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Presently, Adam Parrish had three jobs. The one he needed—as a mechanic at an auto shop three blocks away. The one he’d chosen—as an intern at a prestigious firm, three subway stops and a line change away. And the one that had chosen _him_.

Adam had actually been against it at first, because even if rent was unsurprisingly high in the city and his second job’s pay barely covered his subway pass, he was really _not_ looking for a more innovative way to spend the meager hours he still had allotted for _free time_ in his carefully color-coded weekly schedule.

And, to be fair, he still was kind of against it, several times a month. But it _had_ perks, such as him not being required to leave the apartment—they’d built their reading room in a corner of their already-cramped sitting room—, or to politely smile at clients—his job description said he was to look as scary and unapproachable as possible, as Orla already took the clients that were looking for friendly advice—, or to dress up—Orla had gifted him a sparkly tunic with sewn constellations as a thank you for finally getting them a client. That was after a full month of draught, at the end of which Adam had given up on his initial reluctance to get involved into his new roommates’ business. He’d promptly resold the thing on eBay, and Orla had finally shut her complaints when he’d managed to get three-hundred dollars from a lavish widow who wanted help to decide which dog breed to buy.

On his average day, Adam Parrish woke up early to finish his assigned readings, and went to class, and after a meal at the campus canteen he went to serve coffees and print copies to people in suits who acted mighty when confronted with a computer screen. And, then, he got his hands dirty either adjusting timing belts or shifting tarot cards. Blue was usually in charge of making dinner, which meant there was always yogurt for dessert. One night a week, Blue read poetry at a vegan coffee shop—which, after that one time in which they’d gone with her and Orla had ominously prophesized the waiter’s death over her margarita, meant it was movie night for Adam and Orla. As long as they didn’t have clients over, that was.

So, on that particular Thursday night, Adam was munching on popcorn and underlining key words with Blue’s borrowed marker on a book chapter he’d definitely have to reread in the morning. Orla was painting her toe nails neon pink.

“They should kiss already,” Orla said, referring to the rom com playing in the background.

Adam hummed, because he wasn’t really paying attention, and because Orla had left the movie on solely because she didn’t like rom coms.

“If they just sucked each other off they’d be able to think clearly,” she insisted, as if they hadn’t had this conversation multiple times before.

“Probably, but the movie needs them to be like that for another hour at least,” Adam supplied, turning a page in his book.

“Sure. It’s boring, though. _We_ could kiss instead, don’t you—” Orla cut herself off. “Blue’s coming.”

Adam hummed again, just as they heard the key turning. Blue came in. Adam tilted the page so that the yellow light from the lamp would hit the even yellower paper more directly.

There were more footsteps.

Orla cooed.

Adam’s head shot up.

Two guys came after Blue. One looked like he could work at Adam’s internship firm. The other one looked like he’d rob a helpless old lady in a rundown alley.

“Hello, there.” Orla placed one very bare leg on top of the coffee table, presumably for the benefit of the mugger-looking one. Adam narrowed his eyes. Orla hadn’t capped her nail polish bottle. Their landlord wouldn’t be happy if she poured florescent pink over their very boring couch.

“Orla, _please_ ,” Blue said, removing her scarf. Her guests remained by the door, understandably intimidated by Orla’s lacey nightgown. “I have my breakfast in _that_ table.”

“Breakfast is overrated, anyway.” Orla’s earrings shone when she moved her head. “Who are you bringing tonight, then?”

“Oh, _these_. Come in. You should thank me, actually. I’ve found you some clients.” Blue’s toothy smile meant she felt proud of having contributed to the business.

Adam could respect that, but he had insisted they installed an appointment system for a reason. He stood up and turned the TV off.

“I’ll leave you to do business, then,” he said.

“Uh, well, it’s not like we’re here for _formal_ business, actually,” the snobby-looking guy said, which only deepened Adam’s frown.

Blue was faster than him, though. She kicked her boots off.

“It is _our_ business, and you’re paying us to do it. Should we shake on it?” The guy sported a shy smile that didn’t look chastised enough, in Adam’s opinion, but that for some reason seemed to appease Blue. Adam didn’t like that, either. “And you’re actually looking for Adam here, so you better not scare him off just yet.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Adam said, pointing at Orla, who of course would be delighted to cater to those clients.

Blue ignored him. “It’ll be fifty,” she said. “No refunds.”

“Do you accept credit cards?”

Orla gaped. “Told you we’d do well to buy one of those things! But, _no_ , Adam said. Nobody wants to have it say on their bank statement that they’d come to a psychic business, _Adam said._ Ha!”

Adam was unfazed by Orla’s loud hand movement. He capped her nail polish.

“Cash only,” he said, looking to the thug, as a precaution measure so that he wouldn’t say something he’d regret later when in direct exposure to the too-white smile of the thug’s companion.

Said companion started searching his pockets. “Oh, right. I’m sure I’ll have a few bills somewhere, if you just allow me a minute—”

“Gansey,” the punk said. His voice was as cutting as his outfit. “Don’t sweat it.” He produced a fifty dollar bill from his leather jacket pocket and handed it into Blue’s outstretched hand, with a total lack of interest that had Adam gritting his teeth.

“Thank you.”

Orla rose.

“We’re all yours, now. With what, exactly, may we be of help?” she asked, sweetness dripping from the batting of her eyelashes. “I’m Orla, by the way.”

“Oh, yes. We _know_.” Blue rolled her eyes. “Orla, this is Gansey. And Ronan. Guys, this is Adam. _He’s_ the one who can help you.”

Adam dropped Blue’s marker on the vacated couch.

“I can’t, actually. Have an exam next week, must study. Orla, on the other hand, is _all yours_ ,” he said, heading for his room.

He bypassed Blue’s outraged screech and Orla’s elated smile.

“Oh, I thought—” Gansey looked dismayed.

Ronan snorted before Adam could guess why.

“Figures,” he said. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“What?” Blue said, echoing Orla’s sentiment.

Adam raised an eyebrow, already by his bedroom door.

“No refunds,” he repeated.

Ronan shrugged. “Don’t give a shit. This was a waste of time, anyway.”

“No, wait. Surely we could reach an agreement? You’re all psychics, right?” Gansey’s optimistic tone gave Adam a full-body shiver.

“Blue isn’t,” Orla said, which promptly earned her a glare from her cousin. “But I am. Better than Adam, actually, ’cause I actually take the business seriously. So—”

Adam didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t have time for this, anyway, and his quiet night was already ruined. He’d better go to sleep right away to get an early start in the morning.

“Whatever. Orla’s great. Good night.”

Adam entered his bedroom, only to have Blue barge in immediately.

“Blue. I get they’re your friends, but—”

“You don’t get _a single thing_.” Blue took a step closer to Adam, so that even if he was taller than her she managed to invade and crowd his space to the point that he wanted to get outside to breathe. She kept talking, in a rushed whisper, before he could tell her she wasn’t helping her cause one bit. “Those guys right there are just looking for a specific place. Nothing to do with their love lives or anything, so Orla is not really our best bet here. _Besides_ , I don’t want _Orla_ to be the one to host them. Especially not the one with the good hair. If you know what I mean.”

Adam _did_ know, from the quick glance Blue spared to the sliver of the sitting room that could be seen through the open crack on his door. _And_ from dating Blue two weeks after he moved in with them, only for them to break up another week and a half after that. They’d all signed an agreement then—it was a full moon and everything and according to one of Blue’s aunts that made it extra-binding—never to date each other again as long as they were living under the same roof. Of course, Orla kept trying to make Adam break said agreement, but Adam had long since been desensitized to the sexy sway of her hips. He _liked_ living there, after all.

“Orla can also find stuff,” Adam argued, although he had a feeling he had already lost this battle.

Blue glared at him from under her bangs.

“I’ll give you my marker collection,” she said. Adam sighed. “I’ll even buy you a new pastel yellow one,” she added. Her old pastel yellow marker had died of exhaustion four days ago, leaving Adam to fend for himself during his preparing of an oral presentation. He’d got an A+ in that presentation, but he hadn’t liked that his notes’ highlighting had lost their internal logic when he’d had to change halfway to purple underlining.

He sighed once more.

“Okay,” he said, and followed Blue back to the sitting room, where Orla was harassing Blue’s crush and his punk friend into drinking one of her cocktails.

“You’re gonna do it?” Ronan asked. He hadn’t taken his jacket off.

“Sure. Blue’s bribed me.”

“You traitor!”

Everybody ignored Orla, so she downed her glass and shot herself in her room, presumably to get changed into some clothes she could go clubbing into or something. Adam supposed he’d get to greet a new, random guy the following morning at breakfast.

Adam took his seat on the reading table and gestured for Ronan and Gansey to take the chairs opposite him.

Blue switched the ceiling lamp off after Adam lit two of her homemade candles—it didn’t affect the readings whatsoever, but Adam agreed it contributed to the atmosphere and, besides, sometimes clients would ask about the scented candles and Blue would get to sell a few of them.

Adam took his tarot deck out of the soft bag where he kept it. He shuffled the cards under the careful scrutiny of the two guys.

“So what do you want to know, exactly?” Adam deigned the cards were shuffled enough. “Cut it,” he told Ronan, who crossed his arms over his chest and sneered at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell _me_ what I need to know?” He asked.

Adam bit down another sigh. Great, Blue had managed to bring home a sceptic. What a lovely night they were all having.

“Sure. Blue said you wanted my help to look for something. A _place_ , she said.”

Ronan nodded. He looked both eager and constipated. Adam kept himself from rolling his eyes only because of a very deeply-ingrained sense of professionalism.

Gansey cleared his throat. Adam had almost forgotten he was there.

“We need to find a place suitable for Ronan’s business. We’ve tried realtors already, but it’s been no help. We’ve even made a few searches on a helicopter. But we haven’t found a piece of land that matches all of our requirements.”

Ronan wiggled in his chair, as if he was profoundly uncomfortable. Adam’s nose had involuntarily wrinkled at the mention of the helicopter.

“Please cut the cards.”

“This is stupid,” Ronan mumbled, but he cut the deck.

“Right. And what are those requirements?” Adam asked, as he carefully placed cards among cards on the table. He was only half-listening as Gansey rattled out measurements and soil acidities, too preoccupied sensing which cards he should turn over and which ones should remain facedown.

He went for a three-card reading. Better not to test neither his nor his clients’ patience.

He was vaguely aware of Blue sitting next to him, but most of his attention was drawn to the cards he was holding, and the shadows the tilting candle light painted on Ronan’s cheekbones. What was Adam asking the cards in his behalf? Where, because they were looking for a place, Gansey had said. Why, because for some reason they could not find it.

He drew the first card. The Five of Pentacles.

Adam had never liked the Five of Pentacles. It typically read as poverty—of health, of confidence, of friends, of money. When Orla had first started teaching Adam how to do tarot readings, the Five of Pentacles was usually the card he got signaling his past.

It was reversed here, though.

This wasn’t a past-present-future reading, then.

“The place you’re looking for—it’s an opportunity,” he said. “It might be a breakthrough—you’ll be leaving behind a dark time. Whatever you’re leaving behind—you do not need that. Not anymore. You’re starting a new era in your life.” Orla was always adamant he needed to use flamboyant language when doing readings. He could see it was working—Ronan took some air and nodded, eyes fiercely fixed on the rest of the deck, still in Adam’s hands. “You only need confidence,” he added, as if that was an easy thing to acquire.

He drew the second card. The Eight of Pentacles, also reversed.

“The only thing stopping you from finding what you’re looking for is yourself,” he said. He could hear a car revving, a bomb going off. “You’re obsessed with finding the _perfect_ place, but perfection simply does not exist. You have created this utopian vision of the place in your head and nothing you ever see with your eyes could possibly match your imagination.” Adam had also done that, once. When he was in high school and so exhausted he couldn’t sleep, he’d also built a dream of what his life in college would be like. “You need to let go,” he said, stealing a glance to one of the burning candles to center himself.

“Yes,” Ronan muttered, still not looking up from Adam’s hands.

Adam drew the third card. The Ace of Pentacles.

He smiled. Lush fruit dangling from trees, a road sign emerging from the grass—Adam got goosebumps from the dew-charged breeze coming from the fields.

“You _can_ find the stability you’re searching for, though. This is the card for prosperity—when you find a place that feels right for you, it’ll be the setting for your new beginning.”

He set the unused deck next to the drawn-out cards. There was a frown between Ronan’s eyebrows, a sigh trapped between his sharp teeth. His eyes darted between the three cards, drawing a triangle with the pentacles as vertices. Frantic, wild.

Orla slammed her bedroom door closed, forcing Adam’s attention away.

“Don’t wait for up me,” she said, only stopping briefly on the mirror by the main door to check on her black lipstick. She also slammed the main door.

Adam would’ve probably heard Blue’s eye roll, if she hadn’t been sitting on his left.

Gansey cleared his throat, reminding Adam of his presence. “That was—accurate, to say the least. Right, Ronan?”

Ronan seemed haunted when he finally looked up.

“Yes,” he nodded.

Blue stood up. “Yeah, told you he’s a good one. He can help you even more, right, Adam?” She produced a state map Adam wasn’t sure they’d owned previous to that day. “So, where do these fine boys need to look next?”

Adam narrowed his eyes, because he wasn’t sure what had possessed _Blue_ of all people to describe those two as _fine boys_.

Gansey cleared his throat _again_ as Blue extended the map on the table, so enthusiastically that Adam almost didn’t have time to collect his cards before they got swallowed by the immense paper.

“Do you need a peppermint drop?” he asked. Gansey gaped, and Adam almost regretted it because he _knew_ it was better for the business if he wasn’t rude to customers. But Ronan snickered, and he was _also_ a customer, so Adam decided not to dwell on it. Much.

“Well?” Blue asked, with a look on her face that probably meant he wouldn’t be getting those markers unless he finished the job.

Adam reluctantly looked at the map.

“What are you guys looking for, exactly?” he asked.

“Land. For my seeds,” Ronan explained, which didn’t really clarify much for Adam.

“As I said before,” Gansey intervened, “we’ve tried contacting a few realtors, and there was even this one piece of land that was mostly okay but unfortunately was too close to the city for Ronan to keep his piece of mind intact, so—We’ve covered most of what is north of here,” he pointed at several places in the map, “and also here. The temperature starts getting warmer if you go below here, actually, which was something I had never stopped to think of, myself, so, yes, anything south of this line is actually off the table.”

Adam hummed, and though back of his cards.

“Pentacles signify the most physical aspects of life,” he said, reading to himself county names that only sounded loosely familiar. “Work, housing, money. That sort of thing. What roots you to earth.” He let his fingertip roam through roads and hills, savoring how soft the paper felt. “You should try east,” he finally said.

“Of here? How far?” Gansey asked.

Adam frowned.

“That would depend on how many of your requirements you’ll want to meet,” he said to Ronan, because even though Gansey was the one leading the conversation he didn’t feel completely comfortable with them speaking about him as if he wasn’t there.

Ronan averted his gaze, but nodded. Blue blew the candles.

“Which scent was this one?” she asked. That led to a mild argument between Gansey and her when he said onions and she revealed it was supposed to be cherries.

“Who would buy an _onion_ -scented candle, anyway?” Adam said, as he tried to find the original folding places in the gigantic map.

He wasn’t expecting Ronan’s snort—he was used to his comments being ignored when Blue or Orla where otherwise occupied.

Ronan’s following wink left Adam quite breathless.

“If she made it,” he whispered, leaning slightly over the table, “he’d totally buy it.”

“He’s got the money to spare, I suppose,” Adam mumbled, but he wasn’t sure what they were talking about anymore.

“You coming?” Ronan asked then, and Adam had to do a double take because he felt like he’d missed part of the conversation.

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow. To find my place.” Ronan’s hands came to help him fold the map, and Adam allowed it even though he didn’t seem to care to fold it _properly_. It wasn’t _Adam’s_ map, after all.

“I never said you’d find it tomorrow,” Adam reminded him, because the fact that Ronan found his jokes funny didn’t necessarily erase his thuggish appearance. So what if he was somehow pretty in his raw danger? One of the downsides of working from home, in their line of business, was that people knew where they lived.

Adam made a mental note to run by Orla the possibility of becoming an entirely-online business—they could surely do readings via videocall, right? It probably was a thing.

“I know. No refunds, I get it,” Ronan said. Adam should’ve taken a card for himself before starting this reading. “You coming?”

“I’m ordering pizza!” Blue announced.

“You staying?” Adam asked. Following Ronan’s glance, he found Gansey looking comfortable on the couch, while Blue rummaged the drawers, presumably looking for takeout menus.

“It seems so,” Ronan said.

“Under the rolling pin, second drawer,” he told Blue. “I’m coming, then,” he told Ronan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me [on tumblr](https://hklnvgl.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
